The Museum
by S. Sakurai
Summary: Long after the age of piracy, the buccaneers of the past are remembered and their treasures are still coveted.


The Museum  
  
He made his way unseen through the milling throngs of children with their plastic swords and their straw hats bought from the gift shop. They were all headed in the opposite direction, being herded out by exasperated teachers. The museum was closing, time for everyone to leave. Everyone but Nightshade.  
  
He stood amid the chaos, still and unruffled in the crowd as only one with his unique talents could, and looked up at the banner stretched across the entrance to the museum rotunda.  
  
"The Age of Piracy!" it boasted, in loud boisterous letters, complete with crashing wave graphics and a picture of an old-time pirate ship. It was the sort of banner intended to get people excited about coming to a museum -- to make them forget that they were looking at the dead artifacts of the past. There was even a romanticized, and probably ridiculously inaccurate from a historical perspective, portrait of a pirate with a tankard of beer in one hand and a huge chunk of meat in his mouth.  
  
The crowds thinned out, no longer casting their chaotic web of shadows on the floor, and Nightshade was forced to jump to the edge of the hall. It was cramped, confining, there, and as soon as he was certain no one was looking he gave up on concealment and strode into the rotunda. The lamp- dial lighting was harsh and came from multiple sources, a state which always made him uneasy. Still, there were safe spots. Under the benches, for instance, and under the figurehead of the decrepit old ship that sat in the rotunda's center.  
  
"Excuse me, sir?" The voice grated on Nightshade. This is what he hated about coming into the light. People talking to him, interrupting his solitude, and he having to bother with coming up with responses to their inanities.  
  
"Sir? Heso, sir?" It was a young Skypeian women, an employee of the museum. She had lovely black hair, he noticed in passing. "The museum is closing now."  
  
"Oh. . . yes. . ." He responded. Words did not come easily to him. "I was. . . just admiring this. . . boat."  
  
"The Going Merry. Yes, it's one of the best pieces. It's hard to believe it really sailed once."  
  
"It's so. . . dilapidated. Have you considered. . . restoring it?"  
  
"Believe it or not, this is how it really looked when it was on the sea, most of the time. It had a rough existence."  
  
"Yes. . . I've read about it. I was interested in seeing. . .seeing the hat."  
  
"The Pirate King's hat? That's in the main exhibit hall with the rest of the artifacts." the women explained. "It's very exciting to have it back in Logue City after the world tour, isn't it? You can come back and see it." she continued. "Tomorrow." There was firmness in that last word.  
  
"Of course . . . tomorrow. I'll . . . return." He turned and headed for the exit, darting a glance over his shoulder. She wasn't watching him. He slipped under the bench, into welcome anonymity.  
  
He watched her for a while as she went about the business of closing. She was very pretty. Maybe she was going to go see her boyfriend after work, and what would they do? He pictured what she would look like nude. Very nice. Maybe she was just going out with friends. They would talk, make jokes, laugh. What would that be like?  
  
She wouldn't talk to him, not for more than a few seconds, and that to get him out of the way. But he could affect her, in his own way.  
  
He waited patiently in his shadow until she was ready to leave. She passed right by him. He really shouldn't. But there was no way he would be caught.  
  
He popped out behind her, just for a second, and yanked on her adorable little bobble-antennae with as much force as he could.  
  
"OUCH!" she shouted, stumbling backwards. Nightshade slipped back into safety. The girl was looking around in confusion now, tears of pain in her eyes. It was oddly pleasant to know that he had caused those feelings in her.  
  
A part of him regretted that he'd had to hurt her to do it. He would really rather make someone happy, if it were possible. But to do that, he'd have to come out into view for longer. It was too risky.  
  
He waited while she looked around, found nothing, and finally left, rubbing her head. The lights went out, and he relaxed fully. Everybody was gone, darkness was everywhere. He was finally, completely alone. He loved being alone. It was all he could stand. But a perverse part of him did long for human contact.  
  
The palatable darkness that was Nightshade oozed out from under the bench and reformed into the pale young man that was his original, but not truly now his natural, state. He looked down at his hands, remembering the feel of the fuzzy bobbles on his palms. For that moment, he had been able to touch someone else's life, and do it without fear, knowing he could retreat back into anonymity.  
  
That was perhaps the greatest gift the Kagekage fruit had given him.  
  
Not wanting to waste time, he walked purposefully to the exhibit hall, ignoring the old pile of lumber. It was too big to take. But there were other treasures.  
  
The age of pirates may be centuries past, he reflected. But the age of thieves is forever.  
  
The hardest part would be deciding what to grab. Most of it looked like junk, but there were collectors who would pay any price for a good piece, something that they could look at when they'd come home from a hard day of being rich and feel a little vicarious thrill at the thought of being a raider of ships instead of corporations.  
  
He glanced at an old contraption of wires connected to a snail shell. According to the plaque, it was the remains of a denden mushi, a communication device from the era before dial power was in common use. That was garbage. Now, these swords, on the other hand. . he could barely imagine the price Roronoa Zoro's swords would bring. There were more treasures here. . .the slingshot President Usopp had used in his youth, before he gave up the life of a sea dog for a more serious form of piracy. A first edition of Nami's landmark "Atlas of the World." Other things, a tarnished gold hook, some kind of primitive water sled once owned by the Pirate King's brother, a "defused Buggy Ball", whatever that was. . .all the detritus of an age when somewhat warped human beings had run amok throughout the four blues. Even the legendary "One Piece" itself, sitting alone in a display case looking singularly unimpressive. Hard to believe so many had risked their lives to recover that thing.  
  
But all that was secondary, stuff to scoop up as much as possible of while he was making his escape. The real object was at the end of the hall, encased in a glass pedestal. Fitting for the way people saw it, as though it were some kind of holy relic, and not a lot of dry grass that had been woven together centuries ago. The pirate king proclaimed it treasure, and so treasure it still was.  
  
Well, he wasn't going to argue with that. Not when there was undoubtably somebody out there who would pay him a pile of real treasure to own it. He flexed his fingers unnecessarily and proceeded to smash the case. He grabbed the hat and melted into the shadows as the alarms blared, preparing to grab as much else as he could and run.  
  
"DON'T TOUCH MY TREASURE!" a furious voice boomed. Nightshade squeaked in startled terror. Nobody could be here so quickly! Wrapping his intangible body around the hat, he fled.  
  
Only to feel cold hands grabbing at him! How could it be? He was immaterial in his shadow form! He moved faster and faster, tearing through the halls like a black whirlwind, but still the fingers clutched as him, pulling. Finally, he could flee no more, and was pulled back, back, as if by arms that were miles long, into the exhibit hall.  
  
He looked up at the elderly man who stood over him, glowering.  
  
"Who. . .who are you?" he said tremulously.  
  
"I'm the man who became the king of pirates!" was the horribly enthusiastic response. "And you have something of mine!"  
  
Instantly, Nightshade thrust the hat back. "Here! Take it! Just don't haunt me!"  
  
"Ah, that's better." The old man thrust the hat back over his cropped white hair. "Don't feel right without it. Hey, what do you mean, haunt?"  
  
"You're. . . you're a ghost, aren't you. . . Mr. Luffy?" the unhappy thief managed.  
  
"A ghost?" Luffy's eyes widened in shock, a scar appearing under his left eye from out of the numerous wrinkles. He held up one faintly transparent hand in front of his amazed face.  
  
"Well how about that! I must have died!" He laughed. "Ha! I told Sanji's youngest that she wasn't cooking the meat long enough! Looks like I was right!"  
  
He peered more closely at his surroundings. "Museum, huh? Guess they still remember us in. . . How long has it been?"  
  
"About. . .four. . . hundred years, Mr. Luffy."  
  
"Wow! Amazing! Guess my spirit must have been resting all these years, until somebody came along to disturb my treasure. This. this should go back." He took off his hat, a little sadly, and placed it back in the case. "Belongs to history now. There's worse things than having my stuff on display in a museum." His elderly eyes twinkled as he counted up the contents of the hall. "Besides, I see they never did find most of the buried stuff."  
  
"Yes. . . yes, sir."  
  
Luffy looked down, reminded of who he was talking to. He scowled, and Nightshade's heart sank.  
  
"As for you--" the spectre said angrily. "Touch my stuff again, and I'll beat you into a pulp, even if I am a ghost!"  
  
"Certainly, certainly, I. . . definitely won't!" Nightshade whined. He hated having to talk for this long. The alarms were irritating too. "I'll just take a few of these other things. . . nothing of yours." He reached for the swords.  
  
"You will NOT steal from my friends!" The ghostly fist sprang down and smashed into the thief's face.  
  
"But. . . they're dead! They've been dead for centuries! What do you care what happens to their things?" Nightshade wheedled around mouthful of broken teeth. "Surely. . .as a pirate. . .you understand. In such a cutthroat world, everyone's your enemy! You can't afford friends!"  
  
"It's when everyone's your enemy that friendship is the most important!" Luffy countered. It was madness, it must be, Nightshade thought. How could friendship matter to brutal criminals like these?  
  
"Even if they're gone. . .even if I'm gone as well. . . they're still my friends, for eternity!" Luffy cried out. "Now, get out of here, or I'll BEAT YOU UP!"  
  
The lights came on with a flash, and Nightshade found himself alone in the room, lying on shards of broken glass.  
  
"Freeze!" a harsh voice demanded. Armed police rushed into the room. Nightshade looked around automatically. Of course, a display room like this was well-lit from every angle, now that the lights were turned on. In fact, there were no shadows to slip into at all.  
  
"Hey, that's the fruit guy!" one of the officers was saying.  
  
"Keep a light on him! Don't let him escape!" the sergeant commanded. She smiled. "One of the ten most wanted thieves, eh? I may get a promotion for this."  
  
Nightshade stopped listening. They had him, and they knew what he was. He wouldn't be escaping, and he was so tired of listening. He lay down and shut his eyes against the light.  
  
Goodbye to darkness, goodbye to becoming one with the shadows. They would stick him in a little cell somewhere lighted day and night. They'd have to build one special for him. They'd probably stick him in solitary, put his food through a slot, and he'd never see or talk to another person ever again.  
  
Nightshade smiled. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all.  
  
OSHIMAI 


End file.
